


Not Quite What Was Expected

by afteriwake



Series: Where The Wild Ones Are [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV), St Trinian's (2007 2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annabelle is convinced Sherlock hates her; after all, why would he ignore her and obviously prefer Kelly? But a conversation with John leads to surprising revelations from Sherlock and the beginnings of a better relationship between Annabelle and Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite What Was Expected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aaronlisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaronlisa/gifts).



> As per usual for this series, written for the lovely **Aaronlisa**. This time I'm answering one of her prompts ("Sherlock acts like he hates it when Annabelle comes to visit but he actually loves it"). I hope you enjoy this, sweetie.

Annabelle had returned to London for a very solemn occasion. John’s mother had died a few days prior. As they had both known it was coming and it had been very obvious to him that she would not last the week, he had not needed much consoling. Annabelle rather thought he still hadn’t quite forgiven his mother for the way she had treated her, and she was just sorry that now there was no chance for him to reconcile anymore. But John assured her it was fine, and she wanted so very hard to believe him.

The funeral had been that afternoon, and now she was in the home she dimly remembered from her childhood, standing near Harry and John as people came to offer their condolences. She was not there to accept their regrets at his mother’s passing; rather, she was there to offer her strength to the both of them. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the people stopped coming to them, and John turned to her. “I could use a bit of a breather,” he said, giving her a faint smile.

“Of course,” she said with a nod. She cast a glance at the other important guest nearby, but Sherlock ignored her. He’d ignored her every time she had come to visit since Christmas. He hadn’t ignored Kelly, which should have aggravated her more than it did, but something had happened between the two of them the day they went out for coffee, the day John’s mother had said those horrid things to her. Kelly had made a friend in him, and while she had thought perhaps the same thing might happen with her so far it seemed as though she was a non-entity in his life.

It was raining outside, so they didn’t leave the house. Instead they went up to his old bedroom. She hadn’t been there since she and her father left the house. It had been her safe place, the only place in the entire home where she had felt comfortable. There had been nights she would curl up in bed next to him when the shouting got to be too much and they would talk about other things as they tried to ignore the rages downstairs. She would fall asleep close to him and wake up the next morning in her own bed, tucked up tight. When she had left, that was one thing she had missed the most about not living with her brother. Because titles or not, he was real family, not simply a stepsibling.

She sat on the bed next to him. This time she was to do the comforting, as she reached over and grasped his hand in hers. “Are you all right, John?” she asked quietly.

“As well as I can be,” he said with a sigh. “Harry’s been pissed a lot of this week, leaving everything to me. She’s already three sheets to the wind as it is. She’s just hiding it better today than usual.”

“I know. I saw.” She squeezed his hand. “Is there anything I can do?”

He turned to face her. “Talk to me about something other than my mother. Anything at all. Tell me about Kelly, or your girls. Anything except our past.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Does Sherlock hate me?” she asked, looking intently at their hands. She missed the shocked look on his face, the surprise at the question she had asked. “I get the feeling he can’t stand the sight of me, that he still hasn’t forgiven me for Flash Harry and his introduction to the girls and all of that.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” John said.

“Then why doesn’t he talk to me?” she asked, looking at him. “If he doesn’t hate me, why doesn’t he make an effort?”

“He likes you,” John said. “I mean, in his own way, he likes you. I just don’t think he knows how to deal with you.”

“Then why does he get on so well with Kelly?”

“That afternoon, when they went out and talked, she forced the two of them to come to an understanding. And they’re very similar, in a lot of ways. There is a connection there that maybe isn’t a friendship but is certainly more than just a relationship between acquaintances.”

“Yes, but why doesn’t he want that with me?”

John was quiet for a moment. “You both share me. You are the two people in the world I’m closest to, but you know a whole side of me that he doesn’t. And I’ve already shown I’ll pick you over him. He doesn’t understand that. He doesn’t have the type of close relationship we have with his own brother. And because of that, he doesn’t know how to deal with you.”

She sighed. “I want him to like me. He’s your best mate. I saw what his death did to you. It devastated you. And then he was back and this whole thing, this whole side of you that I had sorely missed, it was back and you were whole. And it was all his doing. He did something I wasn’t able to do. He was able to put you back together, not once but twice.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way before,” John mused.

“And I really want him to like me. I don’t want him to ignore me anymore, to keep me out of mind when I’m here like I’m an uninteresting stain on the wall that you only glance at and then ignore. I want to be his friend too.”

“You should talk to him about this,” John said. “You should have the two of you come to an understanding.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

He nodded. “I want some time alone, I think. Go talk to him now.” He squeezed her hand once and then let go. “Tell him I’ll meet the two of you back home, when this is all over. I expect he’s bored and he wants to leave, if he hasn’t left already. I fully expect him to have snuck out to do something far more interesting.”

“He wouldn’t do that to you,” she said, standing up. “He wouldn’t leave you when you were hurting.”

“Well, he doesn’t need to stay any longer if he doesn’t want to,” John said, shifting so he was lying down in the bed. “I’ll be fine, Annabelle. You two go ahead and leave. Try to come to that understanding.”

Annabelle nodded. “All right. I’ll see you back at your home.” She left his room then and headed back down the stairs. She saw Harry with a drink in her hand and debated whether she should actually leave or whether she should keep an eye on her to give John some peace, but in the end she decided it was really time to leave. She looked around the crowded room for Sherlock. Her former stepmother had known quite a few people, but she thought some of these people were not really here to mourn the dead. It was a very different feeling from the last funeral she had attended. Her heart sent out a small ache as she thought about Camilla. She still missed her aunt greatly, even after all these months.

She spotted Sherlock standing by the window, looking out. She went over to his side and looked out at the same general area he was staring at, quiet for a moment. She wanted him to acknowledge her presence, but he did not. Finally she cleared her throat. “Yes?” he murmured.

“John said you could go home now. He would meet us there later.” Sherlock turned to look at her. “He was rather surprised you hadn’t already bolted, but I told him you’d stay because he was hurting.”

Sherlock nodded slowly. “Very well. I shall take my leave.”

“I’ll go with you,” Annabelle said.

“If you want.” He went to the closet and pulled out his jacket. She got hers as well and the two of them stepped outside into the rain. It had not been raining during the funeral, and neither of them had thought to bring umbrellas. There were no cabs in this neighborhood so Sherlock began to walk towards the local businesses, and Annabelle followed. Sherlock flipped up his collar. “Is there any particular reason he sent you to tell me?”

“No.”

He glanced over at her. “You’re lying.”

She sighed. He was so damn perceptive. “We were talking about you, before. I asked why you hated me.”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, staring at her with wide eyes, heedless of the rain. “I do not hate you, Annabelle.”

“Yes, but we’re not friends. You have a warmer relationship with Kelly than you do me. I saw your reaction when you saw she wasn’t here with me two days ago.”

“Kelly and I have come to an understanding. I suppose I am starting to consider her a friend.”

“Then why don’t you consider me a friend?” she asked. The rain was coming down steadily, and she had to push her wet hair out of her face. “Am I less to you than Kelly? Or John?”

“Not less. Just…different. And I don’t know how to deal with that.” He looked away. “I like listening to you talk. You have interesting stories, have done things most people would kill to do. You’ve been interesting places. And somehow I feel as though, compared to you, I am wanting in some respects. We have both been through trials and tribulations, and where I became a human robot you have been warm and loving. I envy you, I suppose. And I do not know how to handle that envy, so I shut you out.”

She blinked. She had not expected this, not at all. “I envy you too, you know.”

He looked back at her sharply. “Why?”

“You put my brother back together. I couldn’t do that. And believe me, I tried. And then I saw this man I had missed come back, and it was all your doing. When you faked your death he was a shell again, and I tried to fix him again. And once again, I couldn’t. I could only pick up the pieces and try to glue them back together. And then you came back, and _he_ was back. I wanted to hate you for that, for being able to _fix_ John when I wasn’t able to, but I was so grateful that I couldn’t.”

“He will always choose you over me,” he said quietly. “No matter how important I am to him, you will always outrank me.”

“Does it really matter? He looks at you as family as well. It just so happens I actually _am_ family. Sherlock, we should just put this behind us. I want us to be friends, or at least friendly. We both love John, and we should be nice to each other for his sake, if nothing else.”

“I would not be adverse to a friendship with you,” he said slowly. “As I said, you are an interesting woman.”

“And you are an interesting man,” she said with a smile. “Now come on, let’s get out of this god forsaken rain and start actually being friends, all right?”

She was pleased to see him give her a faint smile in return. “As you wish, Annabelle.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she asked, linking her arm in his and walking down the street again. After a quick glance at their joined arms and a slight tug from her he walked in step with her. “So! What should we do to build this friendship?”

“We can start with warm coffee and decent conversation,” Sherlock said.

“I can do that,” she said with a warmer smile, and she got a warmer smile in return. It didn’t matter that she was getting soaked to the bone. She had a new friend, or would have one soon enough, and that warmed her up inside. This could only be a good thing for everyone involved.


End file.
